Having recognized religious doctrines to be illusions, we are at once confronted with the further question: may not other cultural possessions, which we esteem highly and by which we let our life be ruled, be of a similar nature? Should not the assumptions that regulate our political institutions likewise be called illusions, and is it not the case that in our culture the relations between the sexes are disturbed by an erotic illusion, or by a series of erotic illusions? Once our suspicions have been roused, we shall not shrink from asking whether there is any better foundation for our conviction that it is possible to discover something about external reality through the applying of observation and reasoning in scientific work. Nothing need keep us from applying observation to our own natures or submitting the process of reasoning to its own criticism. Here a series of enquiries present themselves, which in their result should be of decisive importance for constructing a ‘Weltanschauung’. We surmise, too, that such an endeavour would not be wasted, and that it would at least partially justify our suspicions. But the author of these pages has not the means to undertake so comprehensive a task; forced by necessity, he confines his work to the pursuit of a single one of these illusions, that is, the religious.
But now the loud voice of our opponent bids us to stop. We are called to account for our transgressions.
‘Archæological interests are no doubt most praiseworthy, but one does not set about an excavation if one is thereby going to undermine occupied dwelling-places so that they collapse and bury the inhabitants under their ruins. The doctrines of religion are not a subject that one can be clever about, as one can about any other. Our culture is built up on them; the preservation of human society rests on the assumption that the majority of mankind believe in the truth of these doctrines. If they are taught that there is no almighty and all just God, no divine world order, and no future life, then they will feel exempt from all obligation to follow the rules of culture. Uninhibited and free from fear, everybody will follow his asocial, egoistic instincts, and will seek to prove his power. Chaos, which we have banished through thousands of years of the work of civilization, will begin again. Even if one knew, and could prove, that religion was not in possession of the truth, one should conceal the fact and behave as the philosophy of “As If” demands—and this in the interests of the preservation of everybody. And apart from the danger of the undertaking, it is also a purposeless cruelty. Countless people find their one consolation in the doctrines of religion, and only with their help can they endure life. You would rob them of what supports them, and yet you have nothing better to give them in exchange. It has been admitted that so far science has not achieved much, but even if it had advanced far further, it would not suffice for men. Man has yet other imperative needs, which can never be satisfied by cold science, and it is very strange—to be frank, it is the acme of inconsistency—that a psychologist who has always emphasized how much in men’s lives the intelligence retreats before the life of the instincts should now strive to rob men of a precious wish-satisfaction, and should want to give them in exchange a compensation of an intellectual nature.’
What a number of accusations all at once! However, I am prepared to deny them all; and what is more, I am prepared to defend the statement that culture incurs a greater danger by maintaining its present attitude to religion than by relinquishing it. But I hardly know where to begin my reply.
Perhaps with the assurance that I myself consider my undertaking to be completely harmless and free from danger. This time the overestimation of the intellect is not on my side. If men are such as my opponents describe them—and I have no wish to contradict it—then there is no danger of a devout believer, overwhelmed by my arguments, being deprived of his faith. Besides, I have said nothing that other and better men have not said before me in a much more complete, forcible and impressive way. The names of these men are well known. I shall not quote them. I should not like to give the impression that I would count myself of their number. I have merely—this is the only thing that is new in my statement—added a certain psychological foundation to the critique of my great predecessors. It is hardly to be expected that just this addition will produce the effect that was denied to the earlier attempts. Certainly I might be asked at this point why I write such things if I am convinced of their ineffectiveness. But we shall come back to that later.
The one person this publication may harm is myself. I shall have to listen to the most unpleasant reproaches on the score of shallowness, narrow-mindedness, and lack of idealism and of understanding for the highest interests of mankind. But on the one hand these remonstrances are not new to me; and on the other hand, if a man has even in his early years learnt to face the displeasure of his contemporaries, what effect then can it have on him in his old age, when he is certain to be soon beyond the reach of all favour or disfavour? In former times it was different. Then utterances such as these brought with them a sure foreshortening of one’s earthly existence and a speedy approach of the opportunity to gain personal experience of the next life. But, I repeat, those times are over, and to-day such things can be written without endangering even the author; the most that can happen will be that in this or that country the translation and the circulation of his book will be forbidden—and naturally this will happen just in that country which feels certain of the high standard of its culture. But one must be able to put up with this also, if one makes any plea for wish-renunciation or for acquiescence in fate.
And then it occurred to me to ask whether the publication of this work might not do some harm after all—not indeed to a person, but to a cause: the cause of psycho-analysis. For it cannot be denied that this is my creation, and that an abundance of distrust and ill-will has been shown to it. If I now come forward with such displeasing statements, people will be only too ready to displace their feelings from my person on to psycho-analysis. Now one can see, it will be said, where psycho-analysis leads to. The mask is fallen; it leads to the denial of God and of an ethical ideal, as indeed we have always supposed. To keep us from the discovery, we have been made to believe that psycho-analysis neither has, nor can have, a philosophical standpoint.
This pother will be really disagreeable to me on account of my many fellow-workers, several of whom do not at all share my attitude to religious problems. However, psycho-analysis has already braved many storms, and it must face this new one also. In reality psycho-analysis is a method of investigation, an impartial instrument like, say, the infinitesimal calculus. Even if a physicist should discover with the help of the latter that after a certain period the earth will be destroyed, one would still hesitate to impute destructive tendencies to the calculus itself, and to proscribe it on that account. Nothing that I have said here against the truth-value of religion needed the support of psycho-analysis; it had been said by others long before psycho-analysis came into existence. If one can find a new argument against the truth of religion by applying the psycho-analytic method, so much the worse for religion, but the defenders of religion will with equal right avail themselves of psycho-analysis in order to appreciate to the full the affective significance of religious doctrines.
And now to proceed with the defence: clearly religion has performed great services for human culture. It has contributed much toward restraining the asocial instincts, but still not enough. For many thousands of years it has ruled human society; it has had time to show what it can achieve. If it had succeeded in making happy the greater part of mankind, in consoling them, in reconciling them to life, and in making them into supporters of civilization, then no one would dream of striving to alter existing conditions. But instead of this what do we see? We see that an appallingly large number of men are discontented with civilization and unhappy in it, and feel it as a yoke that must be shaken off; that these men either do everything in their power to alter this civilization, or else go so far in their hostility to it that they will have nothing whatever to do either with civilization or with restraining their instincts. At this point it will be objected that this state of affairs is due to the very fact that religion has forfeited a part of its influence on the masses, just because of the deplorable effect of the advances in science. We shall note this admission and the reasons given for it, and shall make use of it later for our own purposes; but the objection itself has no force.
It is doubtful whether men were in general happier at a time when religious doctrines held unlimited sway than they are now; more moral they certainly were not. They have always understood how to externalize religious precepts, thereby frustrating their intentions. And the priests, who had to enforce religious obedience, met them half-way. God’s kindness must lay a restraining hand upon his justice. One sinned, and then one made oblation or did penance, and then one was free to sin anew. Russian mysticism has come to the sublime conclusion that sin is indispensable for the full enjoyment of the blessings of divine grace, and therefore, fundamentally, it is pleasing to God. It is well known that the priests could only keep the masses submissive to religion by making these great concessions to human instincts. And so it was settled: God alone is strong and good, man is weak and sinful. Immorality, no less than morality, has at all times found support in religion. If the achievements of religion in promoting men’s happiness, in adapting them to civilization, and in controlling them morally, are no better, then the question arises whether we are right in considering it necessary for mankind, and whether we do wisely in basing the demands of our culture upon it.
Let us consider the unmistakable character of the present situation. We have heard the admission that religion no longer has the same influence on men that it used to have (we are concerned here with European Christian culture). And this, not because its promises have become smaller, but because they appear less credible to people. Let us admit that the reason—perhaps not the only one—for this change is the increase of the scientific spirit in the higher strata of human society. Criticism has nibbled at the authenticity of religious documents, natural science has shown up the errors contained in them, and the comparative method of research has revealed the fatal resemblance between religious ideas revered by us and the mental productions of primitive ages and peoples.
The scientific spirit engenders a particular attitude to the problems of this world; before the problems of religion it halts for a while, then wavers, and finally here too steps over the threshold. In this process there is no stopping. The more the fruits of knowledge become accessible to men, the more widespread is the decline of religious belief, at first only of the obsolete and objectionable expressions of the same, then of its fundamental assumptions, also. The Americans who instituted the monkey trial in Dayton have alone proved consistent. Elsewhere the inevitable transition is accomplished by way of half-measures and insincerities.
Culture has little to fear from the educated or from the brain workers. In their case religious motives for civilized behaviour would be unobtrusively replaced by other and secular ones; besides, for the most part they are themselves supporters of culture. But it is another matter with the great mass of the uneducated and suppressed, who have every reason to be enemies of culture. So long as they do not discover that people no longer believe in God, all is well. But they discover it, infallibly, and would do so even if this work of mine were not published. They are ready to accept the results of scientific thought, without having effected in themselves the process of change which scientific thought induces in men. Is there not a danger that these masses, in their hostility to culture, will attack the weak point which they have discovered in their taskmaster? If you must not kill your neighbour, solely because God has forbidden it and will sorely avenge it in this or the other life, and you then discover that there is no God so that one need not fear his punishment, then you will certainly kill without hesitation, and you could only be prevented from this by mundane force. And so follows the necessity for either the most rigorous suppression of these dangerous masses and the most careful exclusion of all opportunities for mental awakening or a fundamental revision of the relation between culture and religion.